


big mouth, drop out, rooftop shout out

by finding



Category: High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (TV)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Slow Build, eventual rj, non-canon compliant, ricky and ej fall in love over a series of nights on a rooftop, the whole gang lives on the same floor, underage drinking (it’s not one of my fics if there isn’t at least 1 mention of a vodka lemonade)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:27:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25832749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finding/pseuds/finding
Summary: “You can call me EJ. I’m a Junior, pre-Law. Don’t bother me, and we won’t have any problems,” EJ says with a smile made for war, and Nini punches him lightly on the arm in reprimand.“Great, I’m living with the fucking Batman apparently,” Carlos mutters.or: EJ and Ricky live across the hall from each other. The college au no one asked for!
Relationships: Ricky Bowen/E.J. Caswell
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> now i bet you’re all wondering what on earth this is because this is obviously not the sexy second chapter of “fuck pride” that i promised. well… i have literally no explanation other than i am getting a little burnt out writing that series and just needed to take a break to write something else! don’t worry, i am NOT abandoning it, it might just take a few weeks for me to get into the swing of it again.
> 
> anyways, here’s a college au i’ve been playing around with for a little while. this occurs in a universe where the events of the show did not happen, but i did pull some plot points and character arcs. this series is mostly just for fun and will not be as angsty as my other fics, don’t worry. i’m just messing around honestly.
> 
> shout out, as always, to flow3rs for her invaluable advice and for responding to my 2 am twitter dms to stop me from making really bad decisions about what i write. 
> 
> title from ready to go by republica (a true 90’s hit)

Ricky is hungover. He’s also running solely on three hours of sleep, a cup of cold gas station coffee he found in his car, and half a Kind bar that Big Red scrounged out of his pocket. So, it’s not exactly an ideal day to move. It’s _also_ not an ideal day to run into his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend, especially while carrying Big Red’s obscenely large flat screen up three floors to their dorm.

“Remind me why I’m living with you again,” Ricky grits between his teeth, a little out of breath.

“Turn to your left. No, your other left,” Big Red directs. Ricky is walking backwards up the stairs, and he’s pretty sure he’s carrying the brunt of the weight. He’s also pretty sure that this staircase was made in the 1800s before there were laws about how narrow staircases could be.

“Anyways, it was either rooming with me or sleeping under the bridge to Aliber. Living with me slightly decreases the odds of drunk freshmen vomiting on you. So.”

“Right,” Ricky mutters. His fingers are cramping, and he’s not really sure how they haven’t made it to the third floor yet. This dorm is so old it probably has dead-end staircases to nowhere just to piss Ricky off.

“Okay, we’re almost to the landing, there’s just a few more steps behind you. The door is closed, though, so you’ll have to open it.”

Ricky stops walking for a second. “How the fuck am I supposed to open the door?”

“By using your hand?” Red offers.

Ricky groans but doesn’t respond. He steps onto the landing and shifts the weight of the tv so it’s cradled in his right arm, and he uses his left to try to feel out the door handle behind him. He finally locates it and tries in vain to turn the knob. “Dude it’s stuck.”

“Just—just unstick it, then,” Big Red says distractedly.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Ricky shakes the handle, but it doesn’t budge. “It’s like there’s someone on the other side holding it closed, I’m—" He gives the door one final pull, but it swings the other way and he ends up smacking into someone. A tall someone. With a very firm chest. “Oh _fuck_ ,” he says, about to lose his balance before Tall and Fit places a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“The door opens the other way,” they say drily, and Ricky tries to crane his head around to get a look at them but his attention is stolen away by Big Red shifting the tv. It starts to slip out of Ricky’s grip, and he has to put both hands under it to stop it from falling onto Big Red. Now that Ricky thinks about it, maybe he _should_ let it fall on Big Red.

Tall and Fit brushes past Ricky on the staircase, and his shoulder nearly clocks Ricky on the chin. “Use the elevator next time dumbasses!” he shouts as he strides down the stairs, two at a time. Ricky watches as his brown hair rounds the corner, but he only catches a glimpse of his face before he’s out of sight.

“Who was that?” Ricky asks once they make it through the door. Their room is, mercifully, the second one from the stairs, and they set the tv down while Big Red looks through his pockets for the key. Ricky studies the two paper flowers on the door with the names _Ricky_ and _Redford_ written in big, loopy cursive. 

“EJ Caswell,” Big Red says offhandedly. “Junior, water polo team, 4.0 GPA, his dad’s a judge or something I think—”

Ricky leans back against the hallway, his mouth turned down at the edges. “That name sounds familiar.”

Big Red pulls a handful of shit out of his pocket and begins to sift through the pile of receipts, gum-wrappers, and a suspicious number of pennies. “He may or may not have started dating Nini this summer.”

Ricky blinks. “Nini. Like, my ex-girlfriend Nini.”

“That’s the one,” Red nods. “Finally!” He slips the key into the lock and opens the door. “Home shit home.”

Ricky drags the tv through the doorway and surveys their new home for the next nine months. There are two beds pushed on opposite sides of the room, each with a desk and dresser next to them. The carpet is so faded that Ricky’s not really sure what color it used to be when it was first put in probably two centuries ago. “I feel like I’m a freshman again. No, wait, a freshman living in the shittiest dorm on campus after his roommate gets him kicked out of their house _two days before the semester starts_.”

“It has a lot of natural light,” Red offers. Ricky scowls at him.

Ricky and Big Red had lived in their off-campus house for approximately a week before they were told to pack their bags. The circumstances involved a litter of kittens, an electric keyboard, a fire extinguisher, and about half a bottle of peach Smirnoff, but Ricky doesn’t really want to talk about it. With two days to the start of classes and nowhere to live, they ended up in Morehouse—an ancient dorm on the edge of campus that houses people too stupid to register early for housing, unlucky transfer students, and probably a dozen ghosts (Ricky has heard the rumors about Room 009 in the basement).

It only takes them about an hour to move all their stuff upstairs. Ricky sits on their futon and surveys the room depressingly. He’s not pouting. Really. Big Red flops down beside him and sprawls his limbs across the couch. They’ve only sat down for a minute before they hear a knock on the door.

“RA!” a cheerful voice shouts.

Big Red glances at Ricky with puppy-dog eyes, and Ricky just groans before shoving Red’s legs off of his lap. “We have a fucking RA. Awesome.” He pulls the door open and is greeted by a girl with bushy red hair and a painfully sunny smile.

“Hi! My name is Ashlyn, and I’m the third floor RA this year,” she says with a wave. Ricky tries not to flinch. “I just wanted to come say hi and give you some information about our residence hall rules. Also, there’s going to be a mandatory hall meeting this evening at seven in the common room on the first floor. I better see you there!” She shoves a thick packet of papers at Ricky and smiles menacingly before moving down the hall. Ricky thinks he feels a headache starting in the back of his skull.

“Here,” he says, throwing the packet at Big Red before moving to sit on the edge of his desk. He looks morosely out the window.

Big Red flips through the papers and hums appreciatively. “No string lights, no toasters, no smoking in the building—I wonder if they mean cigarettes or weed. Probably both. You might have to take up Juuling again,” Big Red suggests seriously. “Sophomore hypebeast Ricky was definitely one of my favorites. No loud music, no alcohol—”

“Is there anything we _are_ allowed to do?” Ricky asks, his chin in his hands.

“Uhm,” Red flips through the packet. “We can leave our door open to increase our chances of meeting new friends in the hall.” Ricky stares at Red unblinking. “Or not. No open door, got it.”

“I need a drink.”

Big Red snorts. “It’s three pm. Also, we have that meeting at seven, and it probably wouldn’t make a very good first impression if you show up drunk.”

Ricky groans again and buries his head in his hands. It’s going to be a long year.

* * *

“Hi everyone!” Ashlyn shouts from her place in front of the fireplace. Ricky wonders if she was a camp counselor when she was in high school. Actually, scratch that—she’s probably still one now. “I want you to look around and say hello to your fellow residents of Morehouse floor three!”

Ricky surveys the room. There are about a dozen people sitting around the room, looking bored and checking their phones. No one says hi. He notices EJ leaning against a bookshelf, looking stoic and tall and stupidly in shape. EJ catches Ricky staring and glares at him. Ricky scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and looks away.

“Great!” Ashlyn says, and if her jaw is clenched tightly, Ricky doesn’t notice. “Morehouse is really unique, as it houses students from all years and majors. You could be living across from a freshman or someone who just transferred. So, the first thing we need to—”

“Sorry!” a girl says, bursting through the doors. She’s dragging another girl behind her, and both of them stop in the middle of the room, panting. “Hi! Sorry we’re late, did you guys already do introductions? I’m Nini, and this is my roommate Kourtney. Kourt is studying Graphic Design, and I’m majoring in Vocal Performance. We’re living in room 306 and hope you’ll come say hi sometime!”

“Follow her at Nini Salazar-Roberts on Spotify!” Kourtney adds.

Ashlyn forces another smile. “Hi, find a place to sit! We actually _haven’t_ done introductions yet, but I guess we could start with that. You two, go first,” she says, pointing at Ricky and Red. Ricky stares at Big Red and waits for him to speak.

“Oh! Okay, I guess I’ll go first. Uh, hi,” he says with a small wave. “My name is Redford, but everyone calls me Big Red. Junior, computer science major. I live in 302 with my best friend Ricky.”

There’s silence for a second, and then Ricky realizes that he’s supposed to go next. He drags his gaze away from Nini where she’s sitting on the edge of a chair, suspiciously close to EJ. They’re chatting quietly, trading smiles and laughing, and really, he’s not upset. Ricky clears his throat. “I’m Ricky. I’m a junior and studying comp-sci, just like Red…” he trails off, trying not to meet Nini’s gaze where it’s wandered over to look at him. “Yeah, uh, that’s it I think.”

A few other students go next, but Ricky really doesn’t pay attention because he’s trying to read Nini’s lips to see what she’s saying to EJ. He thinks he makes out the words _best summer ever_ and _fuck that Ricky guy,_ but he’s not sure.

A slim guy with dark hair starts talking. “I’m Carlos, and I’m a Sophomore double majoring in Dance and Theater with minors in Women and Gender Studies and English.”

Ricky leans over and whispers to Big Red. “Since when do we have a Dance major here?” Big Red just shrugs and continues refolding a gum wrapper.

“So, anyways,” Carlos continues. “I’m living in room 303, but I haven’t met my roommate yet because they refuse to answer any of my texts or friend requests on Snapchat _and_ Instagram, so if they’re in the room, please speak now! It’s someone named E—”

“You can call me EJ. I’m a Junior, pre-Law. Don’t bother me, and we won’t have any problems,” he says with a mean smile, and Nini punches him lightly on the arm in reprimand.

“Great, I’m living with the fucking Batman apparently,” Carlos mutters.

Ashlyn goes through a few more pieces of information, and Ricky stares at his shoes for most of it, trying not to look at Nini and EJ. He fails, for the most part. Ashlyn finally finishes, and they’re all standing up and looking at their phones— _how the fuck did this take an hour and a half_ —when she interrupts one last time.

“Oh, and one more thing! We live on the top floor, but roof access is _not_ permitted. If you get caught up there, you will have to have a very fun conversation with me and potentially even with the Student Conduct Board. So, do everyone a favor and don’t waste my time or yours!” Ashlyn claps once. “Alright, dismissed!”

* * *

“Wanna go up to the roof?” Ricky says, his head lolling over to look at Big Red.

Red doesn’t look away from the tv and just shoves more Cheetos into his mouth. “No. Ashlyn said we’re not allowed to.”

“ _Ashlyn said we’re not allowed to,”_ Ricky parrots mock, doing his best impression of Big Red. “C’mon, since when did you care about following the RA’s rules?”

“Since this dorm became the last possible place we could live, and we can’t afford to get kicked out.”

Ricky’s head falls back on the futon, and he stares up at the wooden slats of the loft bed above them. He’s silent for a moment and then starts whining again. “Please. I’m so bored. It’s a Saturday night, and we’re in our _dorm_.”

“I’m old,” Big Red says dramatically. “My time for parties and rule-breaking has come and gone.”

“You’re 19.”

“I’m young for our class, okay?” Big Red defends. “Go ask someone else. I’m sure _someone_ has their door open to increase their chances of making new friends,” he jokes.

“Fine,” Ricky huffs. He stands up, nearly knocking his head on the edge of the bedframe, and grabs his phone and their room key before leaving. “I’m gonna make _so many_ new friends that I won’t even have time to hang out with you anymore.”

Red just calls out a short, “Have fun!” after Ricky as the door swings shut. He stands in the hallway for a second, unsure what to do, and looks at the door across the hall. It’s room 303, but only Carlos’ name is on the door. Ricky wonders if EJ took his down.

He’s not really sure why EJ’s even living in Morehouse, now that he thinks about it, because most of the athletes live in team houses off campus. Then again, from what Ricky knows, EJ has the social skills of a Rottweiler so maybe he doesn’t do well living with that many people.

Ricky walks towards the opposite end of the hallway towards the door marked “Roof Access—Emergency Exit Only.” He pushes the handle slowly and hopes an alarm doesn’t sound. The building is so old, though, that they probably don’t even have an alarm installed.

The door creaks as it opens, and he checks behind him to make sure no one is in the hallway. Ricky finally gets it to open all the way, and he slips through it. The roof is… underwhelming to say the least, but it has a certain charm to it that Ricky likes. There are old flower pots scattered around, like someone tried to start a garden up here and forgot about it. Other than that, there’s a lot of dead leaves and a few rickety folding chairs. He pulls one over the edge of the roof and looks out across the campus.

It’s a little past 9:00, so the sun has already gone down but it’s still warm outside. He can see the bell tower in the distance and can barely make out the building that houses the comp-sci department. Ricky wishes he had a beer. Or three.

Big Red must read his mind because he busts through the door a few minutes later, a couple of green Heinekens in his hand.

“Jesus that door really sticks,” he mutters, kicking it closed behind him. Ricky winces at the sound and hopes Ashlyn didn’t hear it. Big Red pulls a chair over and it scrapes across the concrete. He flops into it and offers a beer to Ricky.

“Cheers,” Ricky says, taking a long drink. “Did you get bored without me?”

“No. I just felt bad. First day in our new home, and I’m not even celebrating with my best friend.” Ricky thinks about what they must look like: two scrawny college students, legs propped on the brick ledge and leaning back, lukewarm beers in hand. It’s depressing, but in a kind of endearing way. “Anyways, we should talk about Nini. I’d rather we get it over with now instead of you sulking for two months again.”

“I don’t _sulk_ ,” Ricky says, offended. Red gives him a hard look. “Okay, so maybe I sulked for a little bit.”

“You wrote a program that sent you a reminder every hour that she didn’t love you anymore. And you named the program Nini.exe. _And_ you sent it to the prof for extra credit. You got a 10% Ricky. It was hard to watch.”

Ricky grimaces. “Why is Nini even living here? I thought she was in a sorority.”

“Don’t know. Maybe she dropped it.”

Ricky just hums in reply. “You really think her and EJ are still dating?”

“Probably,” Red says thoughtfully. “They only started going out, what, like two months ago? They’re probably still in the honeymoon phase.”

Ricky thinks of Nini leaning into EJ’s space in the common room, them laughing and smiling like they were sharing a private joke. “ _Fuck_. This is so stupid,” he groans, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Big Red offers, and when Ricky glares at him, he throws his hands up in defense. “Hey! I’m just saying that maybe this will finally force you to get over her. For real this time.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ricky says petulantly.

“Right. Well. EJ is basically a Greek God, so you’ve got some pretty big competition. Don’t come crying to me when he crushes your skull with one hand after catching you looking at Nini.”

Ricky thinks for a second and takes a long drink. “I’m not trying to get her back. Don’t look at me like that, I’m being serious. She’s better off without me.”

Big Red rolls his eyes. “Your self-pity complex is getting old, dude. You guys are both great. You’re just a lot better when you’re not together. She just realized it first, and now you have to catch up.”

Ricky thinks he should probably be hurt by that statement, but he knows Big Red is just telling him the truth. Nini doesn’t deserve better. She just deserves someone different, someone who understands her in a way that Ricky can’t. He’s really not sure that that person is EJ, though.

“Does she have to date Caswell, though? It’s like, insulting to my pride,” he complains.

Big Red pats him on his shoulder. “It’s alright Ricky. Maybe if you were a trust fund baby with perfect DNA, you’d look like him too. We didn’t all win the genetic lottery,” he says sagely.

“Thanks, Red,” Ricky says sarcastically. “I can always count on you to remind me that it’s not _my_ fault I’m ugly and poor.”

“Anytime, dude. Anytime.”

Big Red leaves an hour later, sayings something about “Giving you time to stare out poetically at the quad and think about how unfortunate your life is.” Ricky has no idea what he’s talking about. He stares very _seriously_ and _manly,_ thank you very much.

The thing is, him and Nini met during the first week of their freshman year. Both of them were 18 and terrified at the prospect of living halfway across the country in a state where they knew no one. When they found out they were both from Albuquerque, they sort of latched onto one another and never let go. Until one of them did. Until Nini decided that Ricky wasn’t _ready_ for a real relationship, a serious, adult relationship where they talk about their futures and careers and they say _I love you_.

Ricky’s not really good at saying what he feels. He’s more of a love-through-actions guy.

He picks up the bottle cap from his beer and rolls it between his fingers. He contemplates flipping it like it’s a coin. If it lands on heads, he’ll talk to Nini. If it’s tails, he’ll just die instead. He kind of hopes it lands on tails. 

He places the bottle cap on the knuckle of his forefinger and flicks it into the air. It spins around a few times, but Ricky fucked up the angle, and the cap falls over the edge of the roof. He leans over and stares down at the pavement.

“Hey!” he calls out to a guy who was about to walk into the building when the cap ricocheted of his head and onto the sidewalk. “Can you tell me whether that’s heads or tails?”

The guy looks up to the roof, and it’s EJ because who the fuck else would it be when Ricky has bad luck like this? He can barely make out his face in the yellow light of one of the streetlamps, an Ricky wonders if EJ can recognize him, too. EJ stares at him, unblinking.

“The bottle cap,” Ricky repeats, and he’s not sure why he’s still asking. Maybe it’s the three beers he had on an empty stomach. Or maybe he’s just curious. “Is it heads or tails?”

EJ shakes his head and glances down at the ground. “Heads,” he shouts up to Ricky, and then disappears inside.

 _Heads,_ Ricky thinks. _Well. Cheers._


	2. the one where ricky does not have a crush on draco malfoy, thank-you-very-much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nini takes him to her room because it’s really easier to just give drunk Ricky what he wants rather than fighting with him. She unlocks the door, and Ricky is immediately struck by two things. 
> 
> “Okay so, number one, why the fuck is your room so much bigger than mine,” Ricky says, clutching onto the doorframe to stop from falling over, “and number two, why is he in your bed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this during all of my syllabus lectures on zoom :) 
> 
> i swear there is a plot to this story (kind of). i got carried away with writing all of the characters as sitcom archetypes and thinking of witty one-liners. i swear it's coming soon!

“Oh,” Ricky says suddenly, stopping as the door swings closed behind him. “Sorry, I didn’t see you… sitting there.”

EJ doesn’t look up from where he’s sitting with his knees up and his back against the wall. He has a thick book propped against his legs and a small notebook on top of it that he seems to be taking notes in. Ricky’s not really surprised that EJ’s studying, but he is caught off guard by the sight of him wearing glasses—there’s a thin wire frame perched on the bridge of his nose, and it makes him look… it makes him look _something_ that Ricky can’t really put his finger on. Elegant, maybe. Or like a Parisian male model who would call Ricky something very offensive in French that he only understands because he spent most of Junior year French class looking up curse words.

“Why are you sitting out here?” Ricky asks. EJ’s glance slides over the towel and bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo clutched in Ricky’s grip, and then it just as quickly touches on the doorknob to EJ’s dorm room. There’s a very fashionable pair of fishnet stockings wrapped around it, and Ricky shakes his head. “It’s only the first day of classes.”

“Carlos doesn’t waste any time,” EJ mumbles, looking back down at his book. Ricky watches him tap his pen on the paper a few times before putting the end of it in his mouth. A nervous habit, maybe. Or just something EJ does because he knows it makes him look effortlessly lazy and handsome. When Ricky chews on the ends of stationary he looks more like the family pet with an unfortunate case of rabies.

“What are you reading?” Ricky asks. EJ’s gaze flicks up at him again and studies Ricky for a second before he looks down. He lifts the book up, and Ricky catches the words _Lord Denning: A Life_ before it disappears into EJ’s lap. “Cool,” Ricky says.

Another moment passes, and finally, EJ closes the book. “Do you need something?"

Ricky blanches. “No, I was just—” but he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He’s not really sure what he was _just_ doing anyways.

“Great. Good talk,” EJ says in a bored tone.

“Yeah,” Ricky replies.

EJ snorts and goes back to writing. “Yeah. Have a good shower.”

“Sure, you t—” Ricky begins before he cuts himself off. Why the _fuck_ would he say “You too”? This conversation makes him nervous. This whole _being-around-my-ex-girlfriend’s-new-boyfriend_ thing makes him nervous. Should Ricky ignore him? Be polite? Shove him against a wall and threaten him? He mentally crosses that third option off the list based on EJ’s stature and the carefully collected yet obviously murderous look on his face right now. This is probably when Ricky should make his exit.

Ten minutes later, he rests his forehead on the cool tile of the shower. “ _You too?_ Fucking idiot.”

* * *

“What do you think about Ashlyn?”

Ricky looks up from his computer screen. A missing semi-colon has been daunting him for the past hour, and he highlights the last line of code he’s checked before looking up at Big Red. “Who?”

“Ashlyn. Our RA.”

Ricky chews on his lip thoughtfully. “Oh. What about her?’

Big Red looks at him exasperatedly and twirls the straw of his drink between his fingers. “What do you think of her? Like, what’s her _vibe?”_

Ricky smirks. “What’s her _vibe?_ What the fuck, Red?”

“Shut up!” Big Red shouts quietly, as he kicks Ricky under the table. They’re sitting at a cramped table in the middle of the campus Starbucks because _someone_ forgot their laptop charger and by the time they got here after walking back to the dorm, all the good tables were taken.

“I don’t think Ashlyn has a vibe,” Ricky says, taking a sip from his hours-old coffee. It’s room temperature and tastes like dirt. He doesn’t hate it. “I think she’s probably against the idea of _vibing_ altogether.”

“It wasn’t on the list of approved dorm activities,” Big Red agrees sadly.

Ricky leans back in his seat and stretches his arms over his head. Big Red starts re-organizing all the sticky notes and highlighters and notebooks he has laid out on the table, this time in reverse-rainbow order. Ricky’s not sure why he has all that stuff because his notes still look like shit _and_ half of his assignments are late anyways. “So, what, are you like, into her?” Ricky asks.

Big Red blinks repeatedly. “Am I into her? Dude, I barely know her.”

“That’s not a no,” Ricky replies. “She’s kinda cute in a… fuck, what’s the name of that girl in Harry Potter again? The one with the red hair?”

Big Red stares at him incredulously. “Hermione? You don’t know the name of _Hermione_ , one the integral characters in the series?”

“I read those books when I was twelve, give me a break. Also I don’t think that’s what integral means,” Ricky says. He knows what an integral is. His high school computer science teacher didn’t shout at him for 20 minutes about values for nothing. Ricky tries to remember what him and Red were talking about in the first place. “Anyways, if you’re into the whole I’m-dating-my-babysitter thing, maybe you’d like her.”

“I do _not_ have a babysitter kink if that’s what you’re—”

Ricky laughs. “When the fuck did I say anything about a babysitter kink, I’m just saying—”

“Hi! Is this seat taken?” someone asks suddenly. Ricky and Red stop fighting to look at Carlos, who swings a chair over and plops into it, wedging himself between their table and a very large fern. “Hi boys.”

Ricky blinks. Big Red, who is more classically polite, says, “Hey Carlos.” 

“Hello Redford,” Carlos replies in acknowledgement, offering a quick flash of teeth. Ricky thinks it’s a smile, but it’s replaced so quickly by a grave expression that he’s not quite sure. “Big news. There’s going to be a party on the rooftop this Friday.”

“Ashlyn said we’re not allowed to go on the roof,” Big Red interjects.

Carlos rolls his eyes. “A secret party, then. Hermione doesn’t need to know about it.” Ricky raises his eyebrows and smirks at Red who subtly gives him the finger behind his coffee cup. “Anyways, I’ve seen you two up there, like, three times already. Also, stop leaving beer bottles on the ledge. Number one: who still drinks beer in 2020? Number two: littering is for Philistines and closeted truckers. I sincerely hope you boys aren’t either of those.”

Big Red and Ricky give each other a look before looking back at Carlos. No one speaks.

“So _anyway_ ,” Carlos says, drawing out the word and looking down at his phone. “There are a few things I need you two to bring.”

“Wait, why do we need to bring something? It’s not even our party.” Ricky asks, edging towards the _annoyed_ end of the confusion spectrum. 

“Because this is a team effort, and that roof is never going to be a destination space if we don’t all work together,” Carlos says, like it’s obvious.

“Ooo, Ricky _loves_ team efforts,” Big Red says. This is mostly false. It’s not that Ricky has bad communication skills, it’s just that he’s generally clueless and forgets to check his email which his team members find “juvenile” and “selfish when half of our grade depends on everyone doing their part.”

“Fantastic. Love to see it. So—”

Ricky takes a sip of his coffee. It’s still cold. “What if we have plans on Friday?”

Carlos levels his gaze. “ _Do_ you have plans this Friday?”

Ricky tries not to flinch, but the tone Carlos uses is positively fatal. “Well, no, but—”

“I didn’t think so.” Carlos cocks his head to the side and considers Big Red. “Is your friend always this difficult?”

“Only when he’s on his period,” Red says seriously.

“I fucking hate you,” Ricky mumbles, but he just sinks further into his seat and hopes that maybe if he slides down far enough he’ll just disappear.

Carlos tuts. “Okay, so, I’m texting you your list.” Ricky doesn’t ask how Carlos even got their numbers. Probably from Nini. He shudders. “Some mixers, preferably diet or at least low carb. Potting soil. A throw pillow of your choice, but please send me a picture before you buy it. Also fairy lights.”

“Carlos, I’m going to be completely honest with you—I have no fucking idea what fairy lights are,” Ricky says with a weary sigh. “But I’ll try my best.”

Carlos huffs and looks at Big Red. “He doesn’t know what fairy lights are. I swear to God—Oh, Sebastian! I need to go, my friend’s here. Anyways, 10 pm on Friday. Be there!” Carlos shouts, and then he’s through the doors and gone.  
  
“I don’t know what just happened,” Ricky says, resting his head on his folded arms and closing his eyes. When he doesn’t respond, Ricky props his chin up on his hands and looks at Red, who is now staring at his phone. “What are you doing?”

Red chews on the inside of his cheek and squints his eyes. “Trying to figure out what a throw pillow is. Is that different than a normal pillow or…?”

Ricky just groans and shut his eyes. He still has to find that _fucking_ semi-colon. Jesus Christ.

* * *

“ _That_ ,” Kourtney says, “might be the ugliest pillow I’ve seen in my entire life. Where on earth did you find it?”

Big Red’s face lights up, and him and Kourtney launch into one of the strangest conversations that Ricky’s ever been witness to. Then again, he kind of zones out in when words like _TJ Maxx_ and _Facebook Marketplace_ start getting thrown around. He’s nursing a second cup of whatever Carlos handed him when Nini appears by his side.

“She’s kind of hard to talk to when she gets in thrifting mode,” Nini says, gesturing at Kourtney.

Ricky freezes, for just a second, before he remembers that he’s 20 years old and fully capable of handling this situation like an adult. “Yeah.” Okay, so maybe an adult with a very limited vocabulary.

Nini glances at him and laughs quietly. “How was your summer?”

“My summer,” Ricky starts thoughtfully, “was completely boring. I worked at a mini golf course and tried to do some free-lance website work,” he glances at Nini out of the corner of his eye. “I only had one customer, but Jessica said her sweet-sixteen went _great_ and everyone loved the commemorative website.”

Nini laughs again, louder this time. Her hair is longer than Ricky remembers. Ricky tries not to stare. “How was yours? Busier than mine, I’m sure,” Ricky says, and if he’s a little bitter when he asks, he tries not to show it.

Nini nods. “Really good. I stayed here on campus and helped run a theater camp for some of the high schoolers in the area.”

“Oh, cool,” Ricky replies, staring down into his cup. The liquid is bright red and kind of tastes like cherry vodka, but hey, at least it’s diet. “Is that where you met EJ?”

She shakes her head. “Kind of. He was helping with one of the athletic camps. We stayed in the same dorm over the summer.”

“Kind of a coincidence that you both ended up in Morehouse, then. You must be happy, though,” Ricky offers half-heartedly. He’s not very good at making small talk.

Nini cocks her head. “I guess. We got pretty close, so…” she trails off and offers him an unsure look. “Are you, like, okay? I know it was kinda rough for you after the breakup…”

Ricky doesn’t like how she says _the_ breakup instead of _our_ breakup, like she’s trying to distance herself from it. “Oh, yeah, I’m really good. I’ve just been focusing on school a lot—” (this is lie, Ricky doesn’t focus on much of anything unless it’s girls with long brown hair and voices like songbirds), “and I’ve made a lot of friends. I’ve got Red and… Carlos. Hey Carlos!” he shouts awkwardly, throwing up a hand in a stilted wave. Carlos stares at him and quirks up an eyebrow before turning back to his conversation.

“That’s great, Ricky,” Nini says softly. It’s kind of patronizing, but Ricky might be misinterpreting her kindness for backstabbing humiliation. He’s not exactly the best at reading these things.

“Yeah.” They both go silent; Nini texts someone back on her phone, and Ricky kind of just stands there awkwardly, surveying the party. It’s more of a kickback than anything, with only a few dozen people standing around, but the mood is good. Someone lugged an unused bunk bed out here and strung up lights around the frame, and the abandoned chairs are now littered with pillows and blankets. It doesn’t look completely terrible, but Ricky’s never going to admit that to Carlos.

He wants to go back to his room. Or—scratch that because that room is the _last_ place he wants to be—he wants to go anywhere else but here. It sucks because this is usually the kind of thing Ricky would love: an eclectic group of fuck-ups drinking and lounging on bunk beds and talking about throw pillows while on top of the shittiest dorm on campus. It’s like an A24 movie. Or at _least_ an indie Netflix original.

“Where’s EJ?” Ricky asks because he doesn’t think there’s a universe where he _doesn’t_ ask where EJ is.

Nini looks up from her phone and gives him a curious glance. “I’m not sure. Why?”

Ricky shrugs and tries to make it look effortless. “No reason. Just figured he’d be here if you were.”

Nini’s eye crinkle at the edges. “It’s not like I keep tabs on him.” Ricky wonders if Nini broke up with him because he was too clingy. Maybe that’s why she likes EJ—he seems so completely disinterested in _anything_ that Ricky doubts he’s ever an overbearing boyfriend. “Anyways, he hates stuff like this.”

Ricky looks around the party again, then back at Nini through the corner of his eye. “What, Carlos’ organic jungle juice and the opportunity for genuine human connection doesn’t interest him? Oh, wait, I’m guessing his idea of fun includes things like horse betting and bottles of wine that could pay off my student loans.”

Nini rolls her eyes. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of being right. Anyways, this is the first night he’s had alone in his room this entire week so…”

“Ah,” Ricky answers appraisingly, then waves a hand towards Carlos. “He keeps busy.”

Nini leans closer to him and whispers conspiratorially. “We’re all trying to figure out who the mystery lover is. Kourtney placed her bets on a sex-demon that he accidently conjured while trying to Ouija dead drag queens. I think it’s probably the TA from _Dramatic Interpretations of English Poetry_.”

Ricky shudders at the familiar name of the class Nini and him took together to fill their “Artistic Experience” requirement. The class was nothing to write home about, but the Ken-doll TA kind of was if square jaws and baby-blue eyes do it for you. “He looked like an Old Navy mannequin.”

“Some people are into that,” Nini offers.

Eventually Big Red and Kourtney wander over to join their conversation, which Ricky is infinitely grateful for given that he’s sent about a dozen “please help me i have no idea what to say to her” texts to Red in the past five minutes. Big Red throws an arm around Ricky’s shoulder and tips an invisible hat to Nini. Ricky kind of regrets asking him to come over here.

“M’lady,” Big Red says to her. She gives him a pained smile.

Ricky shrugs Red’s arm off and cuffs him on the head. “I thought we talked about you at least _trying_ not to sound like a pick-up artist.”

“I didn’t even wear my party fedora,” he responds, sounding put off.

“Next time,” Kourtney says, patting Big Red comfortingly on the shoulder before pushing him towards the drink table. “Now go fetch us some more drinks! It’s time for the girls to talk.” Ricky looks unsurely between the girls and then decides to follow Red before Kourtney grabs his sleeve. “Not you, skater boy.”

“Uh—” Ricky gives Red an anxious glance, but his friend is already halfway to the drink table.

“So,” Kourtney starts, staring at Ricky. He glances towards Nini, but she looks just as clueless as him. “We need to do something about your friend and his little crush.”

“His crush?” Ricky asks.

“On Ashlyn? The RA?” Kourtney adds when Ricky doesn’t recognize the name. “He has some weird soft spot for her, and it’s going to get us all in trouble.”

Ricky shakes his head. “It’s hopeless. Once Red gets a crush he’s _all in_. Like, poems and gifts and two-weeks-since-we-met anniversary dates.”

“He did mention something about finding out what her favorite movie was so he could project it onto the side of the chem building,” Kourtney adds thoughtfully. “I took that as a red flag.”

Nini frowns. “I don’t see what’s so bad about him having a crush on her. I think they’d make a cute couple.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ if they make a cute couple,” Ricky interjects, “because when Red is dating someone, he can’t lie to them. And to Red, pretty much keeping anything to himself counts as lying. He has a big mouth normally, you literally can’t imagine what it’s like when a girl is involved.”

“So, basically, we can never drink again. Or party. Or hope to spend any time on this charming rooftop,” Kourtney explains, waving her hands around.

“Oh,” Nini’s frown deepens. “Don’t you think it’s kind of unfair to try to sabotage them, though? Like, it’s a bit selfish.”

Ricky has no qualms with stopping his best friend from finding true love. If Red being a little lonely means he can keep Ricky company while they day-drink their way through seven seasons of New Girl, it’s worth it.

“Oh, Nini, my sweet, innocent, Disney princess archetype—this isn’t selfish. Ricky and I are acting in the interest of the _greater good_ ,” Kourtney explains.

“Sure,” Nini snorts. “You two can play anti-cupid in the interest of _the greater good_ all you want, but I’m gonna sit this one out.”

Kourtney rolls her eyes. “You’re too busy being in love anyways that you don’t have time to plot the destruction of young romance.”

Nini ducks her head down, and Ricky wonders if she’s covering up a blush. “I’m not in love, Kourt."

“Sure,” Kourtney says, drawing out the word. “Tell that to Mr. All American with the nice teeth. _He’s_ the one that’s gonna be disappointed.”

Ricky’s pretty sure he knows who Mr. All American is. And she’s not wrong about EJ having exceptionally nice teeth. It’s okay, though, because he probably paid as much for them as Ricky did for his first car. Ricky, on the other hand, lost his retainer when he was 16 during an unfortunate altercation with the family dog and was too embarrassed to ever go back to the orthodontist.

“I got some beer for the ladies! And a Grapefruit White Claw for you, Ricky,” Red says, four drinks balanced in his arms as he stumbles over to them.

“This is not what I ordered,” Ricky says, staring at the slim white can.

“Well, technically you didn’t order anything because then I would be classified as a waitress and afforded a $2.62 wage plus tips. And I know you like White Claws better than beer,” Red quips.

Kourtney and Nini both pop the caps off their beers on the edge of the table, and Ricky begrudgingly takes a sip from his own drink. It’s good. Ricky hates it.

“Let’s play a game!” Red shouts after a few minutes.

Ricky groans, and Nini claps her hands together, looking excited. Big Red isn’t good at playing drinking games, and he’s equally bad at coming up with them.

Twenty minutes later, however, they’re tripping over each other in a notably non-child-friendly game of Duck Duck Goose. Okay, it’s less _Duck Duck Goose_ and more _Drink Drink Shot_ , but that’s probably the point. Ricky’s not sure how many shots he’s had. Probably more than he should because he’s pretty sure that Nini, Red, and that pharmacy student from down the hall are ganging up on him.

“I don’t—” Ricky starts before losing his train of thought. “I don’t know what a goose is.”

Big Red laughs, probably because Ricky sounds particularly put out at his own inability to describe a goose. “It’s like a duck.”

“No,” Ricky says adamantly, trying to leverage himself off the ground. He props himself on one elbow before deciding that that’s _more_ than enough effort for one night. “Ducks are yellow. And they can fly.”

“Geese can fly,” Nini argues.

Ricky stares at her, aghast. “They absolutely cannot.”

“I think you’re thinking of a turkey,” Kourtney offers.

“A turkey!” Ricky suddenly turns to look at Nini. He leans into her space and fights the urge to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “Remember the turkey at Thanksgiving last year?”

Nini smiles, small and fond and fuzzy in his vision. “Yeah. Remember when the fire truck came?”

“Your moms were so _fucking_ mad, but they had to pretend it was okay ‘cause Mike spent like five hours trying to cook it,” Ricky adds.

Nini slaps him on the arm and then lets her hand rest on his bicep. Ricky thinks she’s about to say something, her mouth opening slightly before Big Red puts an arm around Ricky’s shoulder and pulls him away.

“And I think that’s enough reminiscing for tonight,” he says, taking Ricky’s drink out of his hand and placing it on the ledge. “C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

Ricky wriggles out of his grasp. “Don’t wanna go to bed. I’ll sleep out here with the—” he waves his hand around vaguely ”—the stars and shit.”

“Right,” Red answers, “because you’re so fond of the _stars_.”

Nini laughs when Ricky continues to refuse to leave his very special five feet of pavement and finally chimes in. “I can bring him back, he’ll probably listen to me.”

Big Red looks between them warily, then checks his watch and finally concedes. “If he’s too difficult, just leave him up here. He’ll be hungover and pissy in the morning no matter where he sleeps.”

Nini eventually coaxes Ricky to sit up, speaking in what he can only describe as her _teacher tone_. She convinces him that his phone is definitely in his pocket and _no Ricky you didn’t forget your key, Big Red said he would leave the door unlocked for you._ Finally, they make it through the door and halfway down the hallway before Ricky stops walking.

“I want to see your room,” he says, leaning against Nini. He whips his head around and tries to focus on her face.

She tilts uncomfortably under his weight. “You can see it tomorrow.”

“But I won’t _remember_ tomorrow.”

Nini snorts. “Well, at least you’re self-aware.”

She takes him to her room because it’s really easier to just give drunk Ricky what he wants rather than fighting with him because he’ll probably forget after two minutes what he even asked for once he has it. Nini unlocks the door, and Ricky is struck by two things.

“Okay so, number one, why the _fuck_ is your room so much bigger than mine,” Ricky says, clutching onto the doorframe to stop from falling over, “and number two, why is he in your bed?”

EJ looks up lazily from where he’s lying on Nini’s bed, a book perched on his chest. “Well this is unexpected,” he drawls.

Ricky looks at Nini, then at EJ, then at Nini again. “But Nini he’s the _worst_.” This is mostly true but partially false—EJ could be objectively terrible, but Ricky wouldn’t really know that, seeing as he’s had about three total interactions with the guy.

“He’s not the worst, you’re just drunk and being stupid,” Nini coaxes, trying to guide Ricky out of her room. “EJ, why are you in my bed and not your own?”

“Carlos came back early,” he says, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, “and your room is bigger than mine.”

“Why _is_ your room so big?” Ricky asks.

“Because I have a triple, but there’s only two of us living here. C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” she replies, a hand wrapped around his arm and pulling him towards the exit.

Ricky refuses to move, staring intently at EJ. EJ quirks an eyebrow in return. “Can you tell your guard dog to stand down?” he asks drily.

“I am not a _dog_ —” Ricky starts, flustered.

“Sure, and I’m not captain of the water polo team. Let’s all play pretend tonight. Nini, you can be the President of the United States, and I’ll be a dashing MI6 agent sent to protect you.” EJ brings both hands up to form a fake gun, and he points the barrel right at Ricky’s chest. “State your purpose, dog-man.”

Ricky stares at him incredulously, then looks at Nini. “ _This_ is what you’re into now?”

Nini shakes her head at the same time that EJ starts speaking. “Wrong answer,” he says seriously, then shoots Ricky with a soft _bang_ under his breath. “Sorry I killed your pet, Neen.”

Nini sighs. Ricky blinks. This is not how he thought tonight would go.

“Okay, let’s play a new game,” EJ says, leaning back on the bed, his hands braced on the comforter. Ricky tries not to stare at the veins of his arms, the tight lines of muscle, his fingers spread across a blanket that Ricky used to sleep on. “Nini’s the girl-next-door. I’m a popular, yet troubled athlete. You can be the annoying ex-boyfriend who won’t leave—”

“EJ,” Nini interrupts. She doesn’t sound amused. “Play nice. I don’t have the energy to break up a fight right now.”

“I’m not annoying,” Ricky interrupts. “I’m doing a _great_ job of keeping my distance, thank-you-very-much.”

EJ stares at Ricky, who is basically draped over Nini’s shoulder at this point given his relative inability to stand up on his own. “Sure,” he replies, hopping off the bed. “This has been great. Nini, you should bring your friends around more often.” He pats her on the head once before ducking out of the room, his six-foot frame bending slightly to get through the small doorway.

Nini sighs and turns to Ricky. “Sorry about that. He’s not very good with people.”

Ricky fights the urge to crane his head around to watch EJ’s retreat. “Isn’t he gonna be a lawyer? Aren’t they supposed to help people?”

Nini places her hands on his shoulders and moves him towards the open door. “He wants to be a prosecutor, I think. You know, putting the bad guys away instead of fighting for them.”

“They send innocent people to prison all the time,” Ricky mutters, but it’s nearly unintelligible given that most of his attention is focused on not tripping over his own feet.

“Sure, yeah,” Nini says as they finally reach Ricky’s door. She hefts his weight so he’s resting on the wall and knocks on the door a few times. “Red, your roommate’s back and he’s excited to go to sleep!”

* * *

After Nini leaves and Ricky’s been dumped on the futon, he doesn’t sleep. It’s not for lack of trying—he’s used all the tricks in the book that he’s filed away for nights when he has the spins: staring at the ceiling until he physically can’t keep his eyes open, watching Big Mouth until he eventually passes out, and, of course, leaning over the toilet until his stomach is empty.

Every time he closes his eyes, two things happen. The first is that his stomach twists into a knot and his head starts spinning like he’s spent an hour on a merry-go-round. The second is that a phantom EJ appears in his mind, laid out on a dorm bed, thin wireframes and long fingers curved around the spine of a book. Dream-EJ is smirking because dream-EJ is just as much of a shit as real-EJ.

“Red, are you awake?” Ricky whisper-shouts into the dark. A sliver of yellow light slides into the room from where the blinds won’t quite close, and Ricky watches as it glows brighter every few seconds as cars flash by on the road. “Red?”

Ricky hears his friend shifting in bed. “What?”

“I’m sad.”

Big Red sighs. “Why are you sad?” he asks plainly.

Ricky curls onto his side and pulls the blanket tighter under his chin. “Because.”

“Because of…?”

Ricky sighs dramatically. “I don’t want to say it. You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“I’m not going to think you’re stupid. I’m going to think you’re drunk and sleep-deprived and probably a little emotional. Is this about Nini?”

Ricky blinks. “No.”

“No?”

“… yes. Okay, but mostly it’s about EJ!” he says defensively.

Ricky thinks he sees Big Red sit up in bed, his body outlined in a dark shadow against the wall. “Ricky,” he warns, “do _not_ get obsessed with this. I swear to god if you go full Harry Potter in Half-Blood-Prince, this friendship is over.”

“Can you _stop_ with the book references? I have literally no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

Red huffs. “Dude we rewatched the whole series like, a month ago.”

“I was too busy waiting for Hermione to get hot.”

“Shut up, don’t pretend you didn’t sit through the whole thing because you had a crush on Draco Malfoy.”

Ricky blanches. “I didn’t have a crush on Draco Malfoy.”

“You said his hair looked soft.”

“Because it _does_ look soft,” he defends.

“Do you think the reason you’re attracted to nice, boring girls and mean boys who bully you is because of your parents’ divorce?”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me. You dropped your psych minor like, a year ago.”

There’s a pause. “What were we talking about again?” Red asks. “Oh, right, your fixation on Nini’s new boyfriend. Totally healthy. Really productive thing to spend your time on.”

“It’s not a fixation. I just want to figure out what she sees in him. Like, what does he have that I don’t? It’s purely scientific,” Ricky explains.

“So, what, you’re going to like, observe? Collect data? Can you even tell me the steps of the scientific method?”

Ricky rolls onto his back and looks up at the slats of the bunk bed. “Sure. Number one: make an observation. Number two: find out why he’s such a little bitch. Number three: take a sample of his DNA to genetically engineer myself into the perfect guy. I’ve got it all figured out.”

“Okay, Ricky. Destroy your life if you want to. I’m going to sleep.”

“I think I might be able to find out what his class schedule is. I’ve seen him—”

“Dude, shut _up_.”

“—and also, I know he’s taking that deviance class in the Sociology department because my friend is—”

Ricky’s cut off by a pillow that suddenly smacks him in the face.

“Shut the fuck up. Text your dad about this or something. Write in your dream journal. I don’t _care_ , just let me sleep without you talking about your hate-crush.”

“It’s not a hate crush,” Ricky says, wounded.

“Sure. Whatever. Great. I’m going to sleep now.”

Ricky turns over and tries to close his eyes. His stomach feels slightly less like being ejected from his body, so he thinks maybe he’ll be able to sleep. He settles into the futon, pulls his blanket around himself, and exhales. “It’s not a hate crush,” he whispers.

“ _God_ Ricky, be quiet! I swear I’m going to—”

“I’m going to sleep! Sorry!”

_It’s not a hate crush. Really, it isn’t._


End file.
